A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales Page 8

  “She’s slurping you all up,” Eunice whispered into his ear. “There’s no need to be frightened. You’ll feel only the height of sexual ecstasy.” She sucked on the lobe of his ear.

  Little gasps of bliss escaped Larry’s lips like the final coughs of a dying man. He’d stopped noticed the ache in his groin, or the creeping complaints spreading up through his body. He felt only the pulsing hardness of his manhood and the cream that flowed around it like a lover’s caress, sweetly begging him for more. He obliged as the endless orgasm stretched on and on while Erica and Eunice whispered sweet nothings into his ears.

  There was another sound. Like a child sucking up the dregs of an ice cream sundae through a straw.

  Dimly he wondered if that was his body.

  * * * *

  Nancy McCammon saw the curtains were drawn on the downstairs living room as she parked the car on the drive. Smiling, she wondered if Larry had been downstairs at all today, or had even got dressed. He was so jammy for being able to work remotely. She wished Songswan allowed her to do the same.

  She turned the key in the lock and opened the front door.

  “Hey honey,” she called out. “You left the curtains drawn downstairs again. The neighbours are going to think...”

  She tailed off as she saw the two demonesses with exposed breasts and blood-red skin standing in her living room. A third woman with skin as pale as porcelain straddled a massage table as if she was fucking it. There was something wrong with the third woman. She didn’t look fully formed. Her features seemed soft and malleable rather than clearly defined, as if she was a crude representation of a human form moulded from wax or plastic.

  There was something lying on the massage table that seemed even less clearly defined than the woman straddling it. The thing didn’t even look human. There was a head, oversize in relation to a slender body, and arms as repulsively flexible as worms, and the skin was translucent and had the unhealthy gleam of something that inhabited deep caves far below the light of the sun. If the woman above looked as though she’d been fashioned from soft wax or plastic, then the thing beneath her looked to be composed of a substance softer still—some kind of gel or jelly. It lifted a feeble head and mewled like a baby.

  The white woman on the table opened her eyes and sighed in ecstatic satisfaction. Her features sharpened, became clearly defined, a person now rather than crude sculpture of one. The wretched figure beneath her—

  Larry. Oh God it was Larry.

  —thrashed its head from side to side and gave a final piteous cry. Its body lost cohesion and it liquefied into nothing more than a damp stain on the cushioned top of the table.

  Nancy’s laptop bag fell from her nerveless fingers.

  “Hello Nancy,” Eryx said.

  “We’re here to collect on our debt,” Eunectes said.

  “We have a task for you,” Eryx said. Her black eyes glittered with malice.

  A Real-Life Goo Girl

  “I’m telling you, it’s a real fetish,” John Sanjust said.

  John and Mario Vailati stood on a metal gantry overlooking a large, circular glass tank.

  “Nah, you’re yanking my chain,” Vailati said.

  “Rule 34. If it exists, there is porn of it somewhere on the internet.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Google it,” John said. “You’ll find tons of pictures.”

  “I don’t get it. What’s the appeal in having sex with what’s basically a giant amoeba?”

  Below them, Subject HA-001 moved around the inside of the tank in a series of undulating waves.

  John shrugged. “Beats me. It’s out there though.”

  “I mean, think about it,” Vailati said. “It would probably feel like shoving your cock into a beaker of cold snot. How is that sexy?”

  “I bet there are websites for that as well,” John said.

  Subject HA-001’s upper body pressed up against the lid of the tank. Twin bulges of what were perfect facsimiles of human breasts, right down to the perky nipples, squashed up against the glass. She stared up at them and kissed the glass with full, bee-stung lips.

  John would have thought the mimicry incredible... if there was any subject being copied. Subject HA-001 had taken on the body shape of a typical male fantasy—tall and busty, ridiculously well-stacked, like a Pamela Anderson or Kim Kardashian—and no-one knew how or why. Well, the top half of her was a male fantasy. The bottom half swelled out into a soft, undifferentiated blob of protoplasm. She was a human-sized amoeba with transparent light-blue skin. John didn’t need to possess a PhD to know she—it—shouldn’t exist.

  “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind shoving your dick up between those puppies,” he said.

  “Language!” Danielle Sullivan shouted up from the monitors below. “This is a place of serious work. I will not have potty mouths in my laboratory.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” John said.

  It was a team joke. Danielle Sullivan was middle-aged and chunky. Blonde curls framed a round, homely face. She was from the American Midwest and about as conservative as they came. Until he’d met her, John hadn’t thought people like Sullivan existed outside of lazy parodies of American culture. He’d even made an ill-advised quip about it not long after they’d been introduced.

  “I didn’t think it possible for biologists to come out of your neck of the woods. I thought they were still having problems accepting the Theory of Evolution,” he’d joked, poorly.

  “We’re not all gun-toting crazy whahoos,” she’d said. “And where’s your top hat and tails—left them back in London did you.”

  Touché.

  Sullivan might have sounded like she was more at home baking apple pies, but she was a fastidious and highly efficient researcher, if a little unimaginative. That was both the positive and negative of her military background. John suspected that was why he’d been brought in. It was easy to joke about that classic oxymoron, American Intelligence, but they knew enough to seek out someone who could think outside of the box.

  Unfortunately, this little problem required being able to think a little further than outside of the box. A lot further...

  * * * *

  The lab went into lockdown at 9:45pm on a Tuesday evening. John was working late and the only person in the lab. He was studying images from the electron microscope when a warning flashed up on his monitor screen informing him of a containment breach and that the lab was entering lockdown mode.

  If this was a film or videogame there would have been flashing lights and wailing sirens. That was because films and videogames were designed to generate excitement. In a dangerous lab environment excitement was a bad thing. Personnel needed to think clearly and fast, and flashing lights and blaring alarms were not conducive to clear and rational thought. No doubt an alarm was going off somewhere and highly trained personnel were springing into action, but John, despite being in the lab, was superfluous now. The breach had been detected and the doors would have been locked and sealed the moment it was detected.

  John sat in eerie silence and looked at the polite warning message flashing on his computer screen. He wondered if they’d let him compose a final email to his mother back in London.

  * * * *

  John had been in Miami for a conference on protists when the US military had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. It was his first paper since receiving his PhD and he wasn’t sure what interest the US military had in “Cytoskeletal Features that aid Oxygen Diffusion in Large Protists”. Some amoeba, like the infamous brain-eating amoeba, Naegleria fowleri, were hazardous to human health, but John’s area of expertise was the giant amoeba, Chaos carolinensis, and they were harmless... unless you happened to be a diatom or similarly microscopic organism.

  He’d assumed there’d been a mistake and told them so.

  “You are an expert in gaseous absorption and transfer in single-celled organisms?” Vailati had asked him. This was before John knew who Dr Mario Vailati was. Back then he’d been anot
her nondescript man with thinning grey hair and a lab coat.

  “Well, yes”

  He had been studying it for the past three and a half years.

  Then you’re exactly the person we want.

  “Why not Professor Robert Feldherr? He’s the expert in this field and he lives in this state.”

  “Professor Feldherr doesn’t have the requisite personality traits for this project.”

  That was from the military type in the smart uniform who looked as stiff as a shop mannequin. Translated from military-speak what he really meant was: Professor Feldherr is old, knows his own mind, and is far less likely to follow orders without question than a fresh-faced young limey. That was John Sanjust. They wanted him for his expertise, but also because they knew he’d be easier to control than an irascible old professor.

  * * * *

  John hoped it was a false alarm. He would have prayed as well, but he was an atheist and couldn’t see the point.

  He knew there were two critical fail-safes. The first pumped super-cooled gas into the room, dropping the temperature down to around -190 °C in a few seconds and turning the whole lab into a giant ice box. That was if they wanted to preserve and retrieve any of the samples.

  If they weren’t interested in retaining anything, or were really scared of further breaches, the second system was set up to incinerate the contents of the lab.

  He’d thought it sounded excessive when they’d described the system to him. This was before he’d seen Subject HA-001...

  * * * *

  “What kind of experiment is this?” John’s voice had been full of awe, and fear.

  Part of Subject HA-001 clearly resembled a young woman. Blue, transparent, but unmistakably a young woman. Initially he’d wondered if a horrific accident had taken place, or—worse—equally horrific human experimentation.

  He wasn’t on the right planet.

  “That information is classified,” the young soldier escorting them said.

  “She’s from another world,” Vailati said.

  The younger soldier looked at Vailati and was about to say something.

  “Oh shut it,” Vailati said. “Dr Sanjust is here to carry out research on our behalf. He can’t do that effectively if he isn’t aware of all the facts.”

  Chastened, the young soldier stepped back out of the conversation.

  “From another dimension, to be more specific,” Vailati continued. “I’m sure you’ve already noticed the excessive security at this facility. You’ll be happy to know it’s not because we’re manufacturing weapons of mass destruction.”

  “That’s a relief,” Vailati said.

  “Our physicists found a way to punch a hole between dimensions. On the other side of the complex is a stable gateway to another world. We’ve been sending people through for the past few months. They’ve even established bases on the other side.”

  John’s jaw dropped open.

  “This is a little unexpected,” he said. “I guess that means we’ve just gone past the opportunity for me to turn this job down.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. Once you’re in, you’re in. None of the people we asked ever wanted out at this point anyway,” Vailati said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Who would,” John said. “What scientist would turn down an opportunity like this? Have you been through?” he asked.

  Vailati shook his head.

  “I was scheduled to, and then something happened. We found life.”

  * * * *

  John stared at the computer monitor. His hands trembled and his palms felt moist.

  Cut it out, he thought. They were not going to freeze him into an icicle—or nuke him into a pile of ashes—unless they were absolutely sure there had been a hazardous containment breach. And then only as an absolute last resort.

  He checked the internal messaging system. He messaged the first name on duty. They didn’t get back to him and neither did the next five names he tried.

  Presumably that was protocol. Don’t speak to the poor sucker you might have to incinerate.

  Stop it! It was probably a false alarm. No-one was replying because they were too busy running diagnostic checks and hunting for whatever software glitch had flipped the alarm.

  John left messages asking for clarification. Then he tapped an icon and brought up the feed from the internal lab cams. He knew CCTV covered the whole of the interior of the lab. One lunch break he and Vailati had laughed while watching the prim and proper Sullivan pick her nose when she thought no-one was watching. Sometimes the littlest of things pleased the biggest of minds. John cycled through the images until he found a camera with a view of the tank.

  Fuck.

  John’s blood turned to icy slush. It wasn’t a software glitch. The circular tank with walls of reinforced glass was empty.

  Subject HA-001 was out.

  * * * *

  Gaseous exchange, John had pedantically told his fellow students during a Student Union screening of The Blob. That was the reason why The Blob, Caltiki or any other B-movie blob monster couldn’t possibly exist. Single-celled amoebae never grew larger than a few microns for a good reason. Any bigger and oxygen wouldn’t be able to penetrate the tissues fast enough to keep the organism alive. This was why complex organisms had complex circulatory systems.

  It was also why human beings tended to die when they were shot full of holes and all the red stuff leaked out.

  “I know, it shouldn’t be alive,” Vailati said as they’d studied Subject HA-001 for the first time. “From what I’ve heard there are quite a few shouldn’t be’s over in H-space. The physicists postulated the laws of physics work slightly differently on the other side of the gate. None of our electronics function properly when we take them through.

  “But wouldn’t the same apply for alien life forms brought back into our world?” John said.

  “That’s one theory. Professor Michel and Doctor Pendleton were firmly opposed to bringing Subject HA-001 back. They thought it would disintegrate into a puddle of goo the moment it entered our universe. As you can see, they were wrong.”

  John could see. Subject HA-001 stood—if such a word could be used—up against the reinforced wall of the tank. Her palms and large round breasts were pressed up against the glass.

  * * * *

  John accessed the environmental controls from his computer. He couldn’t override lockdown and wouldn’t if he could.

  That surprised him. He’d thought of himself and Vailati as a pair of lovable goofballs in a world full of straight-arrow stiffs. He hadn’t really thought of himself as a sacrifice-for-the-greater-good sort of bloke. Sullivan, yes, he could see it. She’d happily pour petrol over herself and light a match while singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” if she thought it would aid her country.

  This wasn’t even his country.

  It didn’t matter. They couldn’t risk HA-001 escaping. He knew all about invasive species. If it got out, made it down into the sewers and started to reproduce they might never be able to eradicate it. He wasn’t exactly relishing the prospect of being flash-frozen into an ice cube—or incinerated—but he saw the logic of it. One life versus the lives of many was a simple equation. He’d make the same call if it was him outside.

  It didn’t have to come to that anyway. Not if he could take control of the situation in here first.

  He accessed the environmental controls and turned the lights down as low as they would go while still providing him enough illumination to see by. Subject HA-001 was mildly phosphorescent. It glowed blue in the dark. Turning the lights down would give him the best chance of spotting it before...

  * * * *

  No-one knew what Subject HA-001 had done to PFC Trey Sandoval in the fifteen minutes or so between her surprising and overwhelming him, and her eventual capture at the hands of PFC Sandoval’s squad. The eyewitness reports were conflicting and confused. One had sworn Subject HA-001 was trying to eat PFC Sandoval. Another was convinced she was trying to mate with him.
The facts shorn of conjecture were this: They’d found Sandoval naked and lying on his back with his body partially engulfed by Subject HA-001. Thinking there still might be a chance to save him his squad-mates had resisted the trigger impulse to start blasting away. Instead, one of them, CPL Rutan, had taken careful aim and put a bullet through what they thought was Subject HA-001’s head. The bullet passed straight through and didn’t do anything other than attract Subject HA-001’s attention.

  “She turned and gave me a look like the one my ex-wife used to give me every night I came back home late and drunk,” Rutan told them.

  It had been SFC Cederlund’s idea to use a fire extinguisher.

  “Worked in The Blob,” he’d told them afterwards.

  It worked here as well. Subject HA-001 did not like cold. It caused her to contract, slow down, and finally become dormant.

  At first they’d thought they’d saved PFC Sandoval. Outwardly his tissues and exposed skin showed no signs of damage from being surrounded by Subject HA-001. They’d even joked about PFC Sandoval’s large and noticeable erection.

  This was before the other reports of aggressive sexual behaviour from H-space life forms had started to come in.

  Apparently it took two hours for Sandoval’s erection to subside. Most of the ribald jokes had faded away by then. Sandoval was still out cold and nothing anyone did was able to revive him. He was alive and breathing, but appeared to be in some kind of coma. The doctors didn’t know how to wake him because they couldn’t understand how HA-001 had induced the coma in the first place. They’d scanned Sandoval’s brain back on Earth and it looked perfectly healthy. Sandoval should have woken with no ill-effects at all. That was a few weeks ago. As far as John was aware, PFC Sandoval was still in the same coma somewhere on the base.

  * * * *

  John stared at the screen. No reply back from anyone in Security. That was a bad sign. Maybe the decision to flip the switch had already been made and they didn’t want the psychological awkwardness of speaking to the condemned man.

  He cycled through the internal cameras. No sign of Subject HA-001. The tank was still empty and the moment Security saw that they would have confirmation the alarms going off wasn’t a glitch.